


every time he goes

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FC Barcelona, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:12:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6626455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rafa finds himself in the position of being the sober one for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every time he goes

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was 'things you said when you were drunk'. I ran with it. Barely shippy? Unbetaed.

It’s only Rafa’s second beer of the night, and he’s aware that that puts him far behind almost everyone in terms of alcohol consumption. They’d gone out, he and Sergi and Marc and Muni and a bunch of other boys from La Masia, celebrating something, maybe a birthday, even though he’s pretty much forgotten whose. 

It’s not something the organization strictly approves of, but they’re teenage boys and Thiago had gone to speak with one of the trainers, and had been met with approval and an encouraging wink, and instructions to be safe. So they’d gone, dressed up and smelling of what was probably too much body spray, ordering what was probably too many shots. Nobody checked IDs.

But Rafa’s begged off shots, had stuck to beer, even when he’s not used to it yet, tasting too bitter and lukewarm on his tongue, the alcohol a warm burn instead of the sharp spike of something stronger.

He’s not sure why he’s playing responsible tonight instead of dancing on the tables with Sergi. It’s out of character, which Marc had pointed out at least five times out of the last six times he’d stopped at his table. The last time he’d been pale and running to the toilets.

Rafa’s got the uncomfortable feeling that his newfound semi-sobriety's had something to do with the sight of Thiago across the bar, sprawled half across the wood and half in some guy’s lap. He’s got something pink and probably lethal in his hands, and he’s laughing, his head thrown back, exposing the dark sweaty skin of his throat.

Rafa takes another sullen swig of his beer, looking around desperately for something to grasp his attention. When he looks back, Thiago is gone. 

He sits up straighter in his seat, feeling a stirring of unease. There’s not sight of Thiago at the bar, no glimpse of him in the throng of bodies on the dancefloor. The glass of the bottle feels too fragile in his clenched fingers.

Then Thiago sprawls into his booth with a tinkle of laughter, appearing from the crowd like magic, and the air comes rushing back into his lungs. Thiago leans against him for a moment, rubbing his face against Rafa’s upper arm like a cat, before flopping down to rest his head in Rafa’s lap with a contented sigh.

“Hello lil bro,” he says, looking up at Rafa with a grin, “having fun?”

He’s drunk; it’s obvious from the glassy sheen in his eyes, from the edge of mania in his grin, mouth pulled back to show more straight white teeth. He lists onto the side and nuzzles at Rafa’s stomach, and he reaches out instinctively to twine his fingers in his hair to pull him away. He’s ticklish there.

“Not really,” Rafa says, honestly, because he thinks Thiago might know he’s lying even when he’s this gone. Thiago always knows.

“We should get you a girl,” Thiago says, decisively, making as if to stand up. He flops back after a second, his coordination gone. Rafa’s thigh hurts when he hits it, but Thiago doesn’t seem to feel it. “A girl will make you feel better!”

“Not tonight,” Rafa says, smiling indulgently at the way Thiago blinks slowly at him, bewildered. 

“Then...a boy?” Thiago asks, slowly, and it takes everything for Rafa to not freeze, to bolt from under where his legs are weighted down by Thiago’s upper body. They hadn’t talked about this yet. He wasn’t even aware that Thiago knew.

He should have known better.

“No, not tonight,” he says, reaching out to smooth the sweaty hair from Thiago’s eyes. Thiago accepts the answer with a contented hum and closes his eyes. 

They stay like that for a few minutes, until Thiago’s breath starts evening out, at which point Rafa decides they might as well get out of here. His own bedroom will be a more comfortable place for Thiago to sleep than a bar with too loud music and people making out in the corners. Not that any of that seems to bother Thiago. 

He grumbles when Rafa pokes him to get up, but follows him obediently through the crowd of people and into the cloying evening air. 

Rafa calls them a taxi and tells the driver the address of Thiago’s apartment. Officially, Rafa is still staying in the Masia dorms, but he hardly spends any time there, sleeping in Thiago’s spare room instead.

Thiago leans into his side during the ride, eyes closed and breathing shallowly. There’s sweat beading on his hairline, on his upper lip. Rafa catches the taxi driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“He gonna puke?” the driver asks and Rafa shakes his head mutely. He seems appeased by that.

When they arrive, Rafa pays, with Thiago’s wallet, because Thiago usually carries more cash, and then he tugs Thiago gently from the back seat, leading him up the stairs and through the door. He makes him drink two glasses of water before he’s satisfied, until Thiago is whining and batting ineffectually at his arm.

“Hey, hey Rafa,” he murmurs while Rafa’s in the process of taking off his second shoe. There’s urgency in his tone, and he looks almost panicked when Rafa looks at him. “You’re not supposed to take care of me. It’s supposed to be the other way round.”

His voice is slurring through the vowels and he looks so serious all of a sudden when just a few minutes ago he’d been loudly complaining and almost bratty. Rafa can’t help smiling at him, suddenly filled with a warm kind of fondness.

“It’s okay. Just for tonight.”

Thiago seems to consider that, before flopping back onto the pillow with a groan. He doesn’t protest when Rafa strips him to his underwear, raising his limbs obediently when he’s asked to, and sometimes doing the opposite just to be a pain in the butt. Rafa would be annoyed, but he’s still feeling fond and sort of off-kilter from their role reversal, so he’s indulgent instead.

When he’s done tucking him in, he sits for a moment at Thiago’s bedside, watching him breathe. His eyes are already closed, but they open when Rafa smooths back his hair and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Rafa,” he slurs, “Rafa, the best at looking after me. The best little brother. The best.”

“Yeah, Thiago,” Rafa murmurs, smiling, “the best. Go to sleep now, okay?”

He waits until Thiago’s breathing evens out into a familiar rhythm. Then he gets up, smoothing the comforter one last time, and walks out.

He leaves the door open, so he’ll inevitably wake up when Thiago wakes up a few hours later and needs to puke. Someone needs to take care of him after all.


End file.
